Is Primary Voting Primarily for Primates?

Mack Hall

The non-system of primaries and caucussing is fascinating, possibly because, like John Kerry’s self-invented war record, it is a great mystery. However, after much study one can figure out how the typical primary caucus works.

In the rural South, of course, there is no mystery – One Party, One Primary, One Folk.

But in New England, the home of the bean and the codpiece, a citizen enjoys choices, and those funny little states up there in Robert Frost country entertain the world with an eclecticity of Ye Olde New England gatherings to determine, well, not much of anything.

On the appointed day for a pricus or a caucary, the sturdy New England farmers and their wives, and the less sturdy New England investment bankers and their significant others, tramp through the snow carrying blunderbusses and Geneva Bibles to gather in houses, schools, and Farmer Ezekiel’s barn to invoke folksy ain’t-they-quainte Ye Olde New England votingness.

In one corner of the room the Obama supporters, young and energetic, cluster together in their Dockers and Earth Shoes and cable-knit sweaters and say nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America.

In another corner of the room the Hillary supporters, both of them wearing red power-blazers and sturdy shoes and 1970s jet-pilot glasses, hug each other and reminisce about 1968 and The Revolution while saying nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America. The McCain straight-talk expressos wander between this group and the kitchen, checking their GPS systems for Change and Hope and a New Day in America.

In yet another corner of the room the Romney supporters in their Cole-Haan pinch-tassle loafers and Izod shirts try desperately to sound like what they imagine The People to be while saying nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America.

In the remaining corner the Huckabee supporters clutch their spit-cups, cinch up their gimme caps another notch, look around suspiciously, and say nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America.

Outside in the snow, Ron Paul’s obedientiaries practice marching in step by torchlight, breaking occasionally to chase reporters and to beat up anyone who says nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America.

Members of each group are free to say nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America, and then shift allegiances to move to another group which says nice things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America. After a period of Red (or Blue) Rover, Red Rover, Can Ebenezer Come Over, folks make their decisions, their heads are counted, and the results are sent to the state election commission and to the world.

Now this works only if the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow by the light of one of those squiggly little glass thingies full of poisonous mercury, in which case the town crier cries "Oyez! Oyez!’ and the quaint New Englanders do the dance of the mid-winter fertility festival in wooden clogs, and start over.

The Huckabeings angrily maintain that the results were pre-determined by evil functionaries in the Vatican and sent to secret operatives via the secret radios in the secret basement of Bob Newhart’s inn.

At the end of the Norman Rockwellian evening the caucasians enjoy a mug of Ye Old New England cider or something, and then go outside to be screamed at and threatened by the Ron Paulistas.

With one per cent of precincts counted Fox News calls the races, and the candidates stand before their sound-alike-cheering faithful to say Nice Things about Change and Hope and a New Day in America, thank the state from the bottoms of their pancreases or something, talk about how honest they are and how they just want to serve The Just Plain Ol’ Common Workin’ People, and then fly away in private jets to shake babies and kiss hands (or some other body part) in other little snowbound states where the most excitement for four years running is watching the statue of Revolutionary Colonel Hiram Smedleybottom change reflected colors as the town’s traffic light changes.

And yet, somehow, the Republic survives.